A Blatant Reminder
by Dramione Forever
Summary: A permanent mark on his body. A stain he could never wash off, branded onto his skin. While he stared at the mark, he thought back to the day it had been branded onto his skin. Written for sick-atxxxheart's tattoo challenge.


**A Blatant Reminder**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Characters they belong to JK Rowling.**

He stared into the mirror. His reflection, a haunted man looked back at him in. Looking down at his arm, he stared at _it_. A permanent mark on his body. A stain he could never wash off, branded onto his skin**. **While he stared at the mark, he thought back to the day it was branded onto his skin. The muscles in his arm flexed, highlighting the tattoo even more, jolting his mind back to that awful day.

He had been walking down Diagon Alley after a hard day's work. He had just wanted to buy her a gift and his mind had been focused solely on that. Just when he was ready to turn and walk in the direction of the shop, he was grabbed from behind and dragged down a dark alley before outside a building. His captors opened the door and pushed him inside. He looked around the room with horror filled eyes at the sight in front of him. He reached for his wand but before his hand could grip it, he was knocked out.

Awakening from the darkness, he blinked a few times to get his eyes accustomed to the light once more. When he looked around, he found that he had been strapped to a chair. Struggling against the binds only caused them to wind tighter causing him to bite down against the pain that he felt as the ropes cut into his skin. The fear of what might happen to him hit him suddenly. A few minutes later he got a look at his captors. When he saw them the colour drained from his face, horror and fear coursed through his body at the sight in front of him. It would be a miracle if he got out of this ordeal alive.

He snapped himself out of his memories. The tattoo had not been a choice. It had been forced on; forced through the screams of the needle, through the tears of his skin. He had no choice. The pain would stay with him always; the pain that he felt as the needle had pierced into his skin. As he was going through all this, one of them had been whispering in his ear that this was to make him remember his crimes.

It was to make him remember all the horrible things that he had done and also to remember who he truly served. The man's cold words still rung in his ears even now, "This is so you never forget," he had said. Those words sent shivers down his spine. After they had finished, the straps of the chair sprang loose and released him. He jumped up and ran from them; the death eaters' maniacal laughter echoing after him as he ran.

He shivered as he thought back, he would never forget that day. He would be forever haunted by it. Every time he sees that tattoo, he remembers. Voices come back to him. Memories haunt. He remembers his crimes, what he's done. The memories replayed in his head over and over again, their pleas for mercy, but they received none. He had tortured them again and again.

After the war he thought he had atoned for his sins and that he could move forward with his life. Some people obviously thought he shouldn't be able to, that he should never forget his past. He was wrong and they were right. He would be forever haunted and he would never be able to forget what he had done. Never be able to escape it, no matter how hard he tried.

She watched him from across the room silently; watched him stare at himself in the mirror. Tears fell down her face as she stared at him. It broke her heart seeing him like this. Taking a deep breath, she moved from her position against the door and walked over to him. "Blaise," she said gently when she was just a few yards from him. He looked at her; a dejected and haunted man stared back at her.

She moved closer to him and touched his arm before slowly kissing his tattoo. Every night she kissed his tattoo gently. She knew he hated it because it made him remember. She put her hand on his cheek and stroked it. He looked at her but didn't respond. "Blaise," she said again quietly. "Come for a walk with me please," she begs him, trying to stop him from thinking about it, trying to make him forget all about it.

He shook his head; she nodded and walks over to the bedroom door. She opened and left, quietly shutting it behind her. Resting her head against the door, she sighs. The day of the attack had changed their lives forever. Before it, they had been like any other normal happy couple. She remembered the day clearly, the horror she had felt when he had stumbled into the house covered in blood.

She had been so frightened that she would lose him. It was the first thing that she had thought when she saw him. More than anything she wished that they could have hunted down whoever attacked him but they would never find out who had taken him that day. Since they would never be able to trace his attackers and because he would never be able to remove the tattoo, they would never be able to fully move on. She hated that tattoo more than anything because they would never be able to entirely heal as a result of it.

After the war they had began to heal and move on with what was left of their lives. Until that day everything had been going well, they had been happy. That day had thrown them back; forced them to live those dark days of the past over and over again. She only wanted to help him, to heal him, but nothing seemed to work. He was a broken, haunted man and it killed her seeing him suffer like this.

She loved him and she wanted them to have a normal, happy life together, but now he was forever haunted by the past, their past. The past that they had both endured and overcome or so she had thought. Until the day where everything from the past had been reawakened once more.

Suddenly an idea struck her and she thought about it for a few minutes. She was surprised that she had not thought of this before, it might just be the way that she could help him move forward with his life.

The next day they were both sitting down at the dinner table, discussing their days. When dinner had finished, she decided that now was the time to tell him what she had done. She got up and walked over to him, stopping just a few yards from his chair.

"Blaise," she said, putting out her hand in front of her in a gesture that suggested that she wanted him to take her hand. He got up from his chair, walked over to her and took her hand. Tears began to fall down her face when he took it. Blaise looked at her in concern.

"Pansy, what's wrong?" he asked her. He put his hand up to her face and gently wiped away her tears which only caused her to cry more. She did not speak instead she remained silent. Blaise pulled her into his arms and hugged her. He was now extremely worried about her, kissing the top of her head. He spoke again.

"What's wrong?"

"Please tell me," he begged her. He was deeply concerned about her and she was starting to scare him. When she heard his words, she stopped crying and moved out of his embrace.

Pansy took a deep breath, staring into his eyes she saw that he was confused and concerned by her behaviour. She took another deep breath, staying silent. Then she rolled up her sleeve. "Look now we match," she said, her voice shaking slightly. Pansy shut her eyes not daring to look at him. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and looked at him. He stared at her arm in shock.

Her once beautiful and unblemished skin was now marked. He looked away from her arm and back to her face. Pansy bit her lip, afraid of what would happen next. Blaise swallowed trying to find words to say but he was speechless. He was too shocked. Minutes passed and the silence between the two of them dragged. Both of them had yet to move.

He licked his lips. "Why?" he cried suddenly. She moved back towards him. "I did it for you, for us," she replied. Tears began to flow freely down her face once more. Suddenly, he gripped her arm tightly, causing her to cry out at the pain that she felt.

"Why did you have to do this, Pansy?" he asked her. The anguish that he felt unmistakeable in his voice.

She stroked his cheek and he flinched slightly from her sudden touch. She kissed him, but he broke the kiss after a minute, pushing her away. Pansy stared into his eyes, the hurt she felt clearly reflected in her own. "I did this to help you, to help comfort you and to heal you," she said fiercely, desperately trying to make him understand. He shook his head. "I did this to help us move on; to help _you_ move on, Blaise," she said. He shook his head once more and stepped back from her. Tears shone in his eyes when he looked at her again.

Blaise turned and walked towards the door. "Blaise, please don't go," she shouted after him. He ignored her and kept walking. He walked through the door without looking back at her, slamming it shut behind him. A walk was what he needed; he had to clear his head and to think about all that had just happened. Hours later, he walked back into the house.

Blaise searched for her, looking in every room. He finally found her in the living room, asleep in one of the chairs. She must have waited for him to come back home but she had obviously fallen asleep, too tired to wait up for him any longer. Her blanket had fallen to the ground so Blaise picked it up and wrapped it back around her to keep her from getting cold. The fire in the grate must have extinguished hours ago.

He bent down and kissed her gently on her forehead, careful not to wake her. He watched her sleep: she had been right. He had to move on, live his life and leave the past behind him where it belonged. He loved her and he wanted to her to be happy. With her by his side, he knew that he would also have a chance of happiness for himself. Her love would give him the strength to fight his demons, move on with his life and he was determined to do so for the both of them.

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Author note:This oneshot was written for sick-atxxheart's tattoo challenge. I used quotes as part of this challenge which are weaved into the story. The quotes are

no2 She hated that tattoo more than anything.

no9 Every night, she kisses that tattoo gently. She knows he hates it because it makes him remember.

No10 The tattoo wasn't a choice. It was forced on - forced through the screams of the needle, through the tears of his skin. He had no choice.

No11 Every time he see's that tattoo, he remembers. Voices come back to him, memories haunt.

No18 Look! Now we match!.

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I hope you enjoyed reading this. I would like to thank StarShinobi for betaing this for me. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.


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